


Longest Night

by lbk_princen



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gift Fic, Gift Giving, Holidays, Kissing, Snowball Fight, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28828524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lbk_princen/pseuds/lbk_princen
Summary: The Winter Solstice is a time in Amestris to eat a hot meal with loved ones, show gratitude with gifts, and celebrate that winter is halfway over. Lieutenant Hawkeye has never had any particular affection for the holiday, until Colonel Mustang invites her to spend it with him in Central.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 22
Kudos: 70





	Longest Night

**Author's Note:**

> this is like half riza character study, half royai indulgence. I wrote it as a holiday gift for my internet spouse hallowspoof and i’m very excited to share it :3 IM SORRY IT'S LIKE A MONTH LATE but pls enjoy and let me know what you thought <3 i hope everyone is staying safe. happy belated holidays 
> 
> (takes place somewhere in the three years between Ed becoming a state alchemist and the main events of mangahood, i.e between 1911-1914)
> 
> shoutout to my betas NothingSoDivine and MapleHere. go read their fics too~

“What are your plans this year, Lieutenant Hawkeye?”

Riza looked up from the form she was filling out, and realized she was the only one still working. She glanced at the clock and frowned slightly; there were still ten minutes until dismissal. Slackers. The guys were chatting amiably around the desks, even Mustang had his butt perched up on Falman’s desk, arms folded across his chest. He was watching her curiously.

“What do you mean, Lieutenant Havoc?” Riza replied politely.

Havoc twiddled the unlit cigarette in his fingers. “For the winter solstice,” he said, smiling genially. “Since the good Colonel has so graciously granted us leave for it this year, finally.”

Riza’s eyes did not flutter towards Mustang. She returned her gaze to the paper in front of her and filled in another field with an efficient flick of her wrist. “I have no plans, currently. It's still a week away. Perhaps my grandfather will invite me to dinner. If not, I'm sure Hayate and I will celebrate somehow.”

The answer was true and boring enough to appease her fellow’s curiosity, and since she indicated she wanted no further part of the conversation, they carried on without her. Mustang’s gaze prickled coolly on her face for a moment, before he began boasting about all the dinners he’d been invited to. Riza went on with her work as if she couldn’t hear him.

When the work day came to a close and the other soldiers trickled out of the office, still engaged in friendly banter, Riza had just one form left to fill out, so she stayed. Mustang stayed too, lingering in the doorway to get one last laugh at Breda’s joke before shooing them off.

Riza signed the form, then collected it and all the other forms in her outgoing basket into one stack that she shuffled neatly. She stood, and only once she was standing in front of Mustang’s desk did she make hard eye contact with him as she placed the sheaf of documents into his incoming basket. He let escape the barest of smiles, but the amusement shone clearly in his eyes.

“Do you usually celebrate the solstice with your grandfather?” Mustang asked, arms still crossed, casual.

“Sometimes.” Riza folded her arms behind her back as she approached him, posture military-perfect. “Neither of us have much other family to speak of, sir.” Her dinners with Grumman were always awkward, at least on her end. She struggled to separate her work from her personal life — they were one and the same, really, and so sitting across the table from Grumman felt more like a meeting with her superior than a dinner with her grandfather. She would rather spend the holiday in her apartment with a book and a cup of hot tea, Hayate curled at her feet, but she wouldn’t refuse the invite for fear of being rude.

She told Mustang none of this.

“I see,” he said. “Do you think he would mind if I stole you, this year?”

Riza arched an eyebrow at him. “I believe he would get on just fine without me, sir.”

“Then may I invite you to accompany me to a dinner on the day of the solstice? It’s in Central City. I’ll cover your expenses, if you like.”

Riza’s fingers tightened around her own wrists, behind her back where Mustang couldn’t see. Frantically, she tried to mentally search her closet for something nice enough to wear to a dinner party. He probably wanted her along to some fancy thing thrown by some Central General, schmoozing and such, showing off the accomplished Hawk’s Eye to stuck up political types who would never appreciate the skill it took to be a sniper on the frontlines. He probably wanted her along to gather intel where he couldn’t. “Though I appreciate the offer, sir, I can cover my own expenses,” Riza replied. “Who is hosting the dinner?”

The way Mustang smiled when things were going his way never failed to make Riza’s stomach drop. It was the same feeling she got whenever she took an elevator going up.

“My family,” he said, and the feeling in Riza’s stomach reversed suddenly.

“Sir?” Riza managed to say, baffled. He was inviting her to a family function, not a work one? “Is that appropriate?”

“You may decline if that changes your mind,” Mustang said evenly. She noted that he had not actually answered her question. His face betrayed nothing, but from the way he’d smiled before, Riza knew he would be disappointed if she said no.

Still, she hesitated for a second, standing just inside the empty office while he watched her from the doorway. He hadn’t moved at all, arms still loosely folded, leaning his weight more on one foot than the other.

Riza knew a little bit about his family — more than most. She knew the woman who raised him was called Madame Christmas, and had met some of the women who worked for the madame. Mustang brought them onto missions sometimes as informants or witnesses, though they were always introduced as _connections_. She saw the way those women spoke to him, teasing and familiar, and though none of them shared features with each other or with Mustang (apart from _pretty_ ), they all had that same canny look in their eye. It was the look of someone who knew more than they were letting on.

Riza firmed her stance. “Let me know the details, and I will be there, sir.”

Mustang smiled winningly and finally uncrossed his arms. “Excellent. I’ll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant.”

It wasn’t a formal dismissal, but Riza was rattled enough by the invitation to spend the holiday with his family that she felt some decorum was in order. So she clicked her heels and saluted with a level, “Sir,” before taking her leave.

As she fled down the corridors of Eastern Command, Riza realized her mouth was dry. She couldn’t tell if her heart was racing from excitement, or nervousness. She reminded herself she needed to stay professional. Riza was always professional.

* * *

When Mustang arrived at her apartment to pick her up for the train station, Riza was doing a last minute check of all her belongings. She had entrusted Hayate to her neighbours for the three days she expected to be gone. Looking at her suitcase, she wondered if she’d overpacked. She pulled out a couple things, weighed them in her hands, then briskly placed them back in the suitcase. A knock came at her door and she quickly straightened up, smoothing out the front of her blouse.

 _What am I even doing,_ she scolded herself as she went to get the door. She had no reason to be nervous.

The door swung open to reveal Mustang in a black coat, worn open over a smart brown vest and pressed slacks. His tie was blue and his gloves were white. Any time he wore civilian clothes Riza was always taken back to when they were teenagers, even if only for the tiniest sliver of a second. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” Mustang greeted with a smile. His hair needed a trim — it was beginning to fall in his eyes.

“Good afternoon, Colonel,” Riza returned. “Allow me to grab my things. I apologize for not being ready.”

He waved her off. “No need. Do you need help carrying anything?”

“I’ll manage, sir,” she said with a tight smile. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

“Very well,” he said, a beat too slow, and Riza gently shut the door in his face.

 _What am I doing,_ she thought again, a bit more fraught than before. She was making a bigger deal out of this than she needed to. Unless she wasn’t. Was it weird for a soldier to accept a dinner invitation from her commanding officer? Surely not, she had accepted Grumman’s dinner invitations in years prior. _That’s different,_ she reminded herself. Grumman was more than her superior, he was her grandfather. Except she felt more comfortable treating him as the former. So really, why _was_ it different? It wasn’t. It shouldn’t be.

Riza forced herself to take a deep, calming breath before lifting her suitcase and marching out of her apartment. She locked the door, checked it, and descended to the street.

It was barely four o’clock, and the western sky was already orange, a sure sign that the solstice was nearly upon them. Mustang stood by the car, bathed in the glowing light of an early sunset, breath clouding in the cold air. Riza ignored the flutter in her chest and firmed her resolve. There was no distinction between personal and professional; it was all the same. She would treat this as any other mission or team outing.

Mustang helped her load her luggage into the trunk of the car and opened the passenger door for her. She nodded her thanks and sat.

“How are you feeling?” Mustang asked as he drove. His voice was careful, and he didn’t look at her.

“Fine, sir,” she said, wincing internally at the flatness of her tone. She forced out some of the rigidity in her spine. “A bit nervous. Will you tell me about who will be there?”

Mustang’s grip on the wheel relaxed, and he checked his mirror with a smile on his lips. “Sure,” he said, and then he did. Riza listened to Mustang go through a long list of names (Vanessa she’d met, Alice she’d met, Nadine she’d heard him mention once or twice, but the rest were unfamiliar) and wondered how, even after all these years, there were still things she had to learn about him.

“I didn’t bring nearly enough gifts,” Riza murmured to herself, quietly appalled. She couldn’t imagine cooking for that many people.

Mustang laughed benevolently at her. She eyed him sideways as he pulled into a parking space in front of the train station. Once he'd switched off the engine they both exited the vehicle and Riza went to open the trunk.

“Think it’ll snow?” Mustang asked, tipping his head to the sky. The sun was still lingering on the horizon, but it would be dark by the time they reached Central. Gloomy-looking clouds were encroaching from the north.

“Hard to say. I'm not a meteorologist, sir." It was certainly cold enough for it.

Mustang chuckled. “It would be nice if it did,” he sighed.

Riza murmured in agreement as she picked up her luggage. An image rose in her mind, an echo of the vision she’d had a week ago when Havoc asked her about her plans for the solstice. She saw herself sitting by the window of her apartment as snow gently fell outside, a cup of tea warming her hands. She saw Mustang sitting across from her with his own mug and a soft smile on his face.

Riza kept her eyes lowered, embarrassed by her wandering thoughts, and shut the trunk.

They boarded the train without further small talk. The rolling hills of the East Amestris countryside flashed past the window, bathed in the oranges and purples of dusk. Soon the sky became so dark that the only thing Riza could see in the glass was her own face reflected back at her. She gazed at herself for a long minute, then closed her eyes and settled in quietly for the rest of the ride.

* * *

From the Central train station they took a cab to the bar, and Riza had heard Mustang talk about “the bar” before, but this was the first time she’d been there. Above the locked door hung a festive bough of holly. Mustang produced a key and let them in. It was unassuming from the outside, warm and dimly lit from the inside. There were three young women seated at the bar, one of whom Riza recognized as Alice, and behind the bar stood an older woman with a garland of pearls and a lit cigarette in her mouth.

“I’m home!” Mustang sing-songed, and the three girls immediately jumped up to throw themselves at him, squealing like little girls instead of grown women.

Riza was taken aback by the display as Mustang was hugged, kissed, and obnoxiously prodded in equal measure. Alice was the first to turn her attention to Riza, her curly blonde hair bouncing with her movements. She smiled brightly and took Riza’s free hand in both of her own.

“It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant Hawkeye,” Alice said warmly. “How are you?”

“I’m well, Alice, thank you,” Riza replied, matching her warmth. “It’s good to see you as well.”

The other girls abandoned Mustang as quickly as they had descended on him to coo and fuss over Riza. They introduced themselves as Giselle (long brown hair in a plait and long brown legs to match) and An (chin-length black hair and xingese features) and ushered her over to the bar to meet who she could only assume was Madame Christmas.

“So you’re the famous Elizabeth, eh?” Christmas said, removing her cigarette from her teeth to speak. The use of Riza's codename garnered a small arch of her eyebrow. “Been taking good care of Roy-boy for us?”

“Madame,” Mustang protested, and the way he pronounced it was the same exasperated tone in which children liked to say  _ mom, _ which was so silly that it made Riza join in with the other girls giggling at him.

“It’s Riza, actually,” she corrected, schooling herself again. "And it's a thankless task, but I haven’t let him get himself killed so far, ma’am.”

Mustang huffed another offended noise, but when Riza glanced at him, his expression was shining with mirth.

“Begging your pardon, Riza.” Christmas’ eyes glittered in that familiar canny way and she took a drag of smoke. _"I'_ _m_ thanking you, and I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you in our home for this special time. One of the girls will get you set up upstairs. Go ahead and get settled in.”

“Thank you very much for your hospitality, ma’am,” Riza said with a polite bow.

Christmas laughed. “Please, call me Chris. _Ma’am_ ages me even more than _madame_.”

Riza found herself ushered upstairs, and when she glanced over her shoulder Chris was coming out around the bar to give Mustang a hug herself. Riza felt something inside her go soft and she looked ahead again both to afford them the moment and to avoid tripping on the stairs.

After being shown where she would be sleeping (in a tiny room with a single bed and a dresser piled with hair products; she wondered which of the women had given up their space for her) the evening was a whirlwind of introductions and light dinner. The apartment above the bar felt smaller than it was because it was crowded with a diverse assortment of women, even a couple too young to be employees of the business Chris ran. They were friendly to Riza and overly-familiar with Mustang, calling him _Roy-boy_ and touching him casually. None of it struck Riza as flirtatious, however, merely fond. They said with their eyes that they had missed him; he said with his that he was glad to be home. Watching these silent conversations made Riza ache a little.

It was a little bit overwhelming, but Riza managed to muddle through the small talk, preferring to let Mustang answer when she could, and watched the way everyone in the room hung off his every word. _That_ felt familiar, that felt right. She had seen him win over many people, men and women alike, with that charmer’s smile and unshakeable charisma. What shattered it was when someone would tease or heckle him, and the room would erupt into laughter. Mustang would chuckle along or bat away the drove of hair-ruffling hands that would descend upon him, and there was an intimacy to it that made Riza feel like she was watching something she shouldn’t.

The atmosphere was light and cozy and picturesque; Riza had no idea this existed. She knew, obviously, that other people had families, and that most families were different than her own, but she had never experienced that difference so keenly. This holiday had always been cold for her, and she hadn’t minded it necessarily, but the newness of this was strange to her. It was the eve before the winter solstice, and the sense of togetherness in the room caught Riza like the tide and dragged her along. She found herself smiling, laughing, more at ease than she ever had been in a room full of strangers.

She caught Mustang watching her a few times, which was only fair, since she was watching him, too. His mood was a little bit like the one he got in when he took the team out for drinks — relaxed in body and boisterous in voice — but there was something softer in it too. Something a little more vulnerable.

“You’re the first girl he’s ever brought home, you know,” a girl called Josephine (long black hair and bright red lipstick) whispered to Riza at one point. Her green eyes glittered conspiratorially.

“Oh?” Riza said, surprised. “I’m not really— well, I can hardly say I’m not a girl, but— our relationship isn’t like that.”

Josephine pressed her hand to her smile like it would prevent Riza from seeing it. “I know. I just thought that was interesting.”

Riza hummed mildly in reply and tried not to look at Mustang where he was sitting on the couch perpendicular to hers. She already knew that most — if not all — of his ‘dates’ were actually with various informants connected to his mother’s information network. He had probably been on fake dates with half the women in the building. It shouldn’t have been surprising that he’d never had a serious girlfriend; that feeling, warm and low in her chest, wasn’t surprise. She refused to identify it further.

Eventually the sheer amount of people was beginning to wear on Riza’s energy, and she excused herself to bed. She thanked Chris again, waved goodnight to Mustang, and retreated to the bedroom she’d been generously provided. She dressed in her comfy winter pajamas and slid under the clean-smelling white sheets, but did not turn off the lamp just yet. She simply stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, hands resting on her stomach.

 _Family._ What an alien concept. _Team,_ she understood easily enough, people working together towards a mutual goal. _Friend_ she had been taught first by Mustang when the scope of their world was still child-small (riding down to the market on the back of the bicycle he’d brought, the wind against her grin and her hands firmly on his shoulders; what _adventures_ days like those had been) and then by Rebecca when she joined the military; people who, more than sharing a goal, took pleasure in each other's company. But _family?_ Riza had always known _family_ to mean _expectations._ To mean manners and obedience and meals taken in silence. That was the opposite of what she’d just seen. In Mustang’s family, women sat on the floor or across each other’s laps while they sipped cheap wine, comfortable and casual. In Mustang’s family they called each other silly nicknames and effortlessly made each other laugh.

(If Riza’s father had a laugh, she didn’t remember it.)

A small ache formed behind Riza’s breastbone. She finally closed her eyes with a gentle sigh. If she listened hard, she could still hear the faint murmurings of laughter and conversation, though not as much as she expected to. The walls were surprisingly thick, it seemed. Perhaps that was why she didn’t hear any footsteps to precede the knock at her door.

Riza quickly threw the covers off and rolled out of the bed. As she walked towards the door she heard another knock and Mustang’s soft voice. “Lieutenant?”

She opened the door for him. He smiled reflexively and she took in the slight tension of his posture. “Yes, sir?” she said.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said.

“No, sir.”

A beat passed where he looked past her into the room before settling on her face again.

“Would you like to come in, sir?” Riza asked, widening the door.

“If you’ll permit.”

Riza let go of the door and stepped backwards into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting to see what he would do. Mustang followed her in, leaving the door open, and went to stand in front of her with his back leaned casually against the wall.

“You have a lovely family, Colonel,” Riza said softly. There was a small seed of wistfulness in her chest.

Mustang didn’t answer, just looked at her. His hands were loosely clasped in front of him, thumb tapping lightly on the opposite index finger with an energy that Riza read as anxious. Then his hands went still, and he spoke. “You can call me Roy.”

Riza blinked in surprise, then frowned. Her first instinct was to immediately say _no, I can’t, and you’re foolish to suggest it._ The way he was bracing said he expected it, too. Why he ever asked her things when he already knew her answer, she would never understand. She sat up a little straighter, challenged him with her eyes. “Are you asking me to, sir?”

Roy— _Mustang_ started tapping his thumb again. “No. Merely offering you a choice.”

Riza folded her own hands together on her knees and inclined her head in acknowledgement. “I appreciate it.” She shouldn’t call him by his first name. It was too personal. She had no personal life.

For a long moment neither of them said anything, and neither made eye contact. Riza compared her hands to his, measured the distance between his knees and hers.

“Why did you agree to come?” Mustang asked quietly. Riza raised her head to meet his gaze, and his eyes were searching, unsure. It wasn’t like him to look unsure; it made her shift restlessly.

Riza sucked on her tongue for a second. “Because you asked me to,” she answered, and very carefully did not say _sir._

Mustang released his fingers to grip his elbows instead, forearms crossed against his stomach. “You could have said no, if you didn’t want to,” he said, voice devoid of emotion.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to,” she retorted. Then she sighed. “I do feel a little out of place. But it isn’t bad. I like your family.”

Finally, Mustang relaxed, and a smile eased its way onto his face. “They like you too.”

A smile of her own fluttered across Riza’s features. Here was the man she’d given up everything to follow, standing in front of her and looking _relieved_ to hear that she liked his family. Of course she liked them — even if they hadn’t been exceedingly kind to her, she owed them greatly for shaping Mustang into who he was. Riza rubbed her palms together and said nothing.

Mustang pushed himself off the wall, drawing her eye. “Shall I let you get your rest, then?”

Riza stood, bringing them closer to eye-level. “Yes, sir,” she said, all business.

Something deflated in Mustang’s eye. He turned to hide it — not quickly enough. “Very well. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well, Lieutenant,” he said as he headed for the door.

Riza followed him and stopped with her toes at the threshold while he stepped into the hall. “You too, Roy,” she said boldly, impulsively, just to see what would happen.

His gaze jerked back to her, eyes wide. He stared, unblinking, and she stared back as a faint smile ghosted his lips. He looked away first, glancing down the hall. Then he nodded, said, “Goodnight,” and strode away. Instead of watching him go, Riza closed her door and leaned against the back of it, biting her lip.

She had no idea what he was playing at — whatever it was, she shouldn’t encourage it. But the way he had looked at her just then, surprise and hope in his beautiful dark eyes, bangs falling boyishly across his face… The way he had smiled, so soft and genuine and just for her, because of her…

Riza flung herself down on the bed and buried her face in her pillow. She told herself she was being silly. No matter what feelings she may have for him (how messy, how shameful) or vice versa (she wasn’t blind, and he didn’t bother half as much with subtleties when they were alone) it wouldn’t change anything. They were just co-workers. She was just his subordinate. It was a professional relationship, one that she would strive to maintain at all costs.

Because her professional relationships were also her personal ones, and she couldn't live without Roy Mustang at her back.

* * *

Even with the blinds in the room drawn and no alarm ringing, Riza’s internal clock had her waking up at the same time she always did. She stayed in the room with the book she brought for company, not wanting to disturb anyone or scavenge for breakfast without permission.

Half an hour later there was a flurry of commotion in the hall, voices raised in excitement and footsteps pattering back and forth outside Riza’s door. She closed her book and went to peer curiously into the hall. “Alice, what's going on?” Riza asked as she saw the familiar blonde bob go by.

At her name, Alice twirled around and beamed at Riza. “Miss Hawkeye! It’s _snowing!_ Come see!”

“I’d like to get dressed first,” Riza said. Alice just nodded and bounded away towards the living room.

Riza donned a warm blue skirt and her nicest long-sleeved blouse. It seemed most of the women had gotten their fill of the snow already and had wandered off, but Alice, Chris, and another girl called Lucy were all standing by the window, watching the snow fall. They easily made space for Riza to join them when she carefully approached, which touched her for some reason.

“It’s been a few years since it’s snowed on the solstice,” Chris remarked. She smelled like ashes and perfume and wore the same pearls as the night before. “Roy and the youngsters went up to the roof if you’d like to join them in catching a cold, Riza.”

Riza smiled. “Perhaps I will.”

When she dressed for the outside and asked how to get to the roof, Riza found herself besieged by women insisting she wasn’t dressed warmly enough, that she should borrow their hats, scarves, mittens. Riza was overwhelmed by their generosity, and grateful for it when she stepped out onto the roof into air that was bitingly cold.

Soft, fat snowflakes drifted gently down from the sky, collecting on Riza’s coat and borrowed hat. There was no wind, and the normally busy morning streets of Central felt quiet and still. Everything was painted shades of grey and dusted with white. A smile tugged at Riza’s face as she tilted her head back to gaze at the sky; a snowflake landed on her cheek and melted against the warmth of her skin. She wiped the wetness away with her gloved hand and looked out across the snow-covered roof. Unused outdoor chairs were stacked off to the side and a waist-high wall went around the perimeter to prevent falling.

Chris’ two youngest were working together to roll a growing snowball across the roof. They were just teenagers; the younger one looked like she could’ve been Edward’s age. Riza had the faith to assume that they had been taken in by Chris like Mustang had been and that they weren’t part of the ‘family business’. If Riza remembered right the younger one with blue eyes was Charlotte, or Lottie for short, and the one with olive skin and twin braids was Gabriella.

Mustang himself was nowhere to be seen until Riza turned around. There was more space behind the sheltered stairs, and Mustang was bent over with his back to her, scooping snow into his gloved hands. He quickly straightened up and spotted her, and the two of them drifted magnetically together. It was only natural for Riza to find herself at his side. He had a snowball in each hand and a scheming smirk on his face. Without a word, he handed one of the snowballs to Riza and subtly nodded towards the girls across the way.

Riza quirked an eyebrow at him questioningly. He replied with a confident smile.

Without any need for verbal coordination, Riza and Mustang drifted apart and into position only a few metres from where the girls had begun making a second snowball. They paused and eyed the adults suspiciously.

“Fire at will, Lieutenant!” Mustang yelled, pulling his arm back.

Riza threw the snowball at half-strength — it impacted Gabriella in the stomach and she yelped in surprise. Mustang hit Lottie in the arm and she shouted his name indignantly. Then both girls dropped into crouches to gather their own ammunition; Mustang and Riza did the same.

It was an unfair fight, really. Between the adults’ longer range and Riza’s pinpoint accuracy, the teenagers had no chance. Realizing how the battle was stacked, Riza paused as she was about to throw again and changed targets. Mustang was four paces ahead of her, practically point-blank range. The snowball smashed into his spine and he turned, eyes comically wide. Riza grinned playfully. She felt young again, playing in the snow with Mustang like she used to when he had a break from his lessons. Even back then her aim was unparalleled.

“Betrayal!” Mustang cried, pointing at her dramatically. “Lottie, Gabi, help me get her!”

“No way!” yelled little Lottie, pelting him with another handful of snow. Gabriella joined in with a crooked grin, and it became a three-against-one.

Mustang fought valiantly, ducking and dodging the oncoming missiles with some success, but he couldn’t return fire without getting hit. The thrill of winning coursed through Riza’s body, compounded by the sounds of laughter from both her young allies and their beleaguered victim.

She found herself laughing, too, when Mustang tried to take shelter on his hands and knees behind the snowball the girls had rolled and it was woefully inadequate. The girls circled around to chase him out, and he ended up running right towards Riza. She pulled her arm back, snow in hand, and waited for him to alter his course, but he just grinned and kept coming towards her.

Mustang’s boot slipped on a patch of ice just before he reached her and he fell backwards with a startled expression, arms wheeling. Riza reacted automatically. She lunged forward, dropping the snow, and caught him by his hips, feet set wide apart for balance as she took his weight. He grabbed her arms instinctively and looked up at her in shock; she was holding him at a forty-degree angle with the roof, one of his legs stuck out uselessly in front of him and the other bent at an angle underneath him.

They were frozen like that for a second, clouds made by their breaths mixing in the space between them, and Riza’s heart raced. He was solid and heavy in her arms and his fingers were tight around her straining biceps. Riza nearly dropped him when she realized this position could have come straight from a dance scene in a movie.

Then Gabriella ran up and smashed a final snowball right into Mustang’s face, and he spluttered, clumps of it sticking to his hair and eyelashes. Everyone else laughed.

Riza didn’t let go, and she was about to move, to pull him upright, when he went completely limp in her arms. She wasn’t prepared for it, and they both went down; Mustang wheezed when she landed on his chest.

Distantly, Riza heard the girls laughing again, but her own amusement had withered as she frantically tried to figure out why he’d collapsed. She brushed the snow out of his face, but he didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move. A gurgle rose from his throat and he twitched erratically. Panic gripped Riza like a vice.

She scanned the horizon for threats; clear. Lottie and Gabriella stood back a few feet, watching with petering entertainment; no immediate threat to the civilians. She focused back on Mustang and saw no signs of a wound, but—

“You did it,” said Mustang, freezing Riza’s thought process. “You killed me. Congratulations.”

Oh. He’d been pretending.

Mustang had only been pretending, because they were playing.

Relief and anger mixed in Riza’s stomach and rushed to her head, making her dizzy. For just a moment, she’d been brought back to all the other times she’d watched someone die, and terror had pierced her down to her bones.

She knelt over Mustang and embedded both fists in the lapels of his winter coat. The cold wetness of the snow soaked through her skirt and chilled her knees, reminding her that she wasn’t in the desert anymore. He cracked open one eye to look at her, head still lolling to the side in mock lifelessness.

“Colonel,” Riza said, and her voice was hard. Hard as steel. Hard as the recoil of a fired rifle.

Mustang immediately lifted his head and propped himself up on his elbows, all the playfulness and mischief gone in favour of concern. Realization crossed his eyes, and the concern turned to regret.

It was Riza’s job to make sure he accomplished his goal. For him to die at someone else’s hand would mean she had failed. (For him to die at _her_ hand would mean _he_ had failed.) He covered one of her hands with his own and looked into her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized in a grave, quiet voice. “That was thoughtless of me.”

Riza replied, “For a smart man, you’re often thoughtless, sir.”

Mustang sighed. They exchanged weak smiles and Riza loosened her grip on his coat, releasing the remaining tension in her body along with it. She could feel sweat gathering on her back and under her arms in contrast to the crisp chill in her extremities.

Riza stood, brushed off her skirt, and offered a hand to Mustang. He gratefully allowed her to help him up and flashed a smile to the girls, who looked on uncertainly.

“Should we finish your snowman before we go in and get warmed up?” Mustang asked, the picture of cheer.

Gabriella chafed at her skinny arms. “I’m cold,” she announced. “And hungry.”

Mustang chuckled and started herding them towards the door to the stairs. “Let’s go in then. Coming, Lieutenant?” He cast a glance over his shoulder, and the way his wet hair clung to his face made him look like a forlorn puppy.

Riza swallowed a smile and nodded. “Yes sir.”

The four of them descended back into the apartment and hung their wet outer garments by the woodstove to dry. Riza retreated to her room to change her skirt, and when she emerged again she saw Mustang perched on a couch with a towel draped over his hair and a mug in each hand. His nose and cheeks were still flushed red with cold, and his smile beckoned her over when he saw her.

Riza sat beside him and he handed her a mug. It warmed her hand when she took it. “What’s this?” she asked.

“Apple cider,” he replied.

Riza took a small sip. Sweetness and heat flooded her mouth, balanced by a hint of cinnamon. The warmth of it spread down her throat and into her stomach, and she closed her eyes with a pleased hum as she savoured it.

When she opened her eyes again, Mustang was looking at her with a gentle, affectionate expression. Behind him, snow continued to fall outside the window, and Riza was struck breathless when she realized her vision from the night before had come true. Here she was, sipping warm drinks with Mustang while it snowed outside. She took another sip to distract herself, and blamed the cold weather outside for the way the tips of her ears burned.

“Do you like it?” Mustang asked.

It took Riza a second too long to realize he meant the cider. “It’s delicious,” she replied with a smile.

“Hazel knows just the right amount of cinnamon to add.” Mustang returned her smile before blowing lightly on the surface of his drink and taking a sip of his own.

“Remind me to steal Hazel’s recipe,” Riza murmured, only joking.

The morning was just as warm and lively as the previous evening had been. A late breakfast was had — sausage and hash and homemade bread slathered in butter along with more hot apple cider. It was much richer and heartier than Riza’s usual oatmeal and coffee.

After breakfast, Riza helped Mustang wash dishes. They stood elbow to elbow at the sink, working seamlessly in tandem to scrub and dry the plates and cutlery, wordlessly passing dishes between them. When Mustang accidentally dropped a mug in the water and splashed Riza, she flicked water at his face in retaliation and the way he glowered sullenly buoyed warm amusement up in her chest.

Then Mustang was shooed out of the kitchen by a woman in her thirties with brown skin and textured hair pulled into a tight bun who Riza remembered as Nadine.

“We don’t let Roy help with dinner. You’d think he got the title _Flame_ from the way he cooks,” Nadine explained with a chuckle. “Would you mind giving me a hand, honey?”

Riza agreed and went to wash her hands. Nadine set her to work peeling and chopping vegetables, and Riza listened idly to her chat with the other women while she carried out the almost meditative task.

Riza had a quiet fondness for cooking. The only happy memories she had of her father were the two of them in the kitchen. When he was healthier he had always taken time to teach her how to make whatever he was cooking, declaring that alchemy was born in the kitchen, and that the creation of food was a fundamentally noble art. He had always refused to teach her alchemy, so instead, they cooked together.

To this day, every time she reached for a mixing bowl or a cutting board she remembered her father instructing her on how certain vegetables should be cut, how certain mixtures should be stirred. She remembered the way he’d say, _good girl,_ when she did it right.

“You have very steady hands,” Nadine commented when she swooped in to collect the potatoes Riza had been chopping. They were all uniformly cut to the thickness Nadine had specified, because precision was the beginning and end of Riza’s talents.

“Thank you,” Riza replied humbly. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

Nadine glanced around at where the other girls were doing their own prep, and hummed thoughtfully. “Oh, would you mind finding Clara and asking her where she put the big casserole dish? I think she was the last one to use it.”

Riza nodded. “Sure. Do you know where I might find her?”

“Check the bar if she’s not in the living room,” Nadine advised.

Riza nodded once more and excused herself from the kitchen. In the living room she found Chris chatting with Helena, a woman with ash-blonde hair and a scarred upper lip. They both acknowledged Riza, and then she continued towards the stairs down to the bar.

The minute she was in the stairwell, she heard Mustang’s familiar laugh rise up from below, mingled with tittering female voices. She could see the bar from the top of the stairs, but they must have been sitting in one of the booths to the side, invisible to her from this angle.

 _“So,_ you’re in love with your Lieutenant, right?”

Riza froze halfway down the stairwell, her heart leaping into her throat.

Had their carefully crafted image of the lackadaisical Colonel and the strict Lieutenant fallen through? She placed a hand on the wall to steady herself, leaned slightly forward to try and catch Mustang’s answer.

“ _Clara!_ Keep your voice down. You can’t be spreading hearsay like that.”

“Oh, come on, Roy-boy, it’s so obvious! Does she know she has you around her finger or what?”

Riza bit her lip, trying to tamp down the confusing, fluttery feelings in her chest. She wasn’t blind to the fact that Mustang had a soft spot for her, but for someone else to have picked up on it? To have classified it as _love?_

“Under her thumb, more like. She’s a big nag, is what she is.”

Some of the fluttering subsided. That was good — he was doing the right thing, protecting their image. She told herself it didn’t hurt her, because it shouldn’t. She still couldn’t help but feel it personally. This was why she preferred professionalism: there was no room to get hurt over silly things like words.

Another voice joined in. “Right, and that’s why you invited her home? Because you love getting nagged so much?”

“Yes, that must be it.” Riza could almost hear Mustang rolling his eyes.

Riza carefully retreated up the stairs, until their voices went back to being unintelligible. _He didn’t mean it, you’re being foolish,_ she scolded herself. _He values you. You know that._ Her heart ached with the knowledge that she would still enjoy hearing him say so.

“Clara?” Riza called loudly, projecting down the stairs.

A few seconds later, Clara (fair skin and auburn hair) came trotting up the steps, peering up at Riza. “Yes?”

Riza kept her gaze level and her expression open, not wanting to give any indication she’d overheard the conversation. “Nadine wanted to know where you put the big casserole dish?”

Clara rolled her eyes and continued up the stairs. “Did she even look for it? Okay, thank you dear, I’ll go sort it out.” With a light touch to Riza’s arm and a wink, Clara scurried towards the kitchen. “Nadine! Look with your eyes! It’s in the top cupboard!”

Hesitantly, Riza followed after Clara, trying to forget what she’d heard. _You’re in love with your Lieutenant, right? That’s why you invited her home?_

She passed Clara again as she entered the kitchen, but avoided eye contact. She waited for more instructions from Nadine, and did her best to make herself useful.

* * *

The shortest day of the year meant the sun had been down for hours by the time everyone crowded around the table to eat. There weren’t enough chairs; many girls ended up standing with their plates or wandering down to eat at the bar instead. Herbal candles had been lit around the various rooms, filling the air with pleasant scents and a merry glow. Holly boughs framed the windows and the wintery city beyond them.

Dinner itself was a feast the likes of which Riza had only seen at formal military functions — a winter-fattened ham, salads, puddings, jams, casseroles, and greasy, oil-fried dumplings. She tried a bit of everything, and it was all delicious, and by the time she finished her plate she felt sated and content.

After dinner, Chris opened a bottle of red Aerugonian wine and offered it around. Riza declined at first, but through some solstice magic (or more likely, meddling women) she ended up with a glass in her hand anyway.

“It’s time for gifts!” announced Lillian with a clap of her hands, and the room became a hubbub of people retrieving gifts, passing them around, and finding a good place to sit.

Riza had only brought two gifts. She gave Chris hers first, a bottle of ten-year-old whiskey that had the woman smiling appreciatively.

“Thank you, Riza, I’ll be sure to save this for just the right occasion," Chris said with a wink.

"You're very welcome," Riza replied. "Thank you again for having me. This is the most lively solstice I've ever had."

Chris grinned, and Riza saw Mustang in it. "You're welcome anytime, my girl. Welcome to call me, too, if you ever need anything."

"Thank you, Chris," Riza replied, the casualness a bit awkward for her. She quickly retreated, and searched out the recipient of her other gift.

She found him on one of the couches, wearily rubbing a lipstick smear off his cheek as Josephine fawned over the cardigan he'd given her. He glanced at Riza as she approached with his gift behind her back.

“Enjoying your evening, Lieutenant?” Mustang asked.

“Yes, sir,” Riza answered. “I have a gift for you. Since you’ve done so much for me.” She held out the slim, rectangular box, and Mustang raised his eyebrows.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, taking the box with both hands.

“Don’t thank me before you’ve seen what’s inside,” Riza teased.

Mustang chuckled. Riza took a seat on the couch perpendicular to his, leaning over the armrest to watch him open the gift. He lifted the top of the box away and set it aside, his eyes glued to its contents. It was a pair of gloves, made of fine black leather and lined with rabbit fur. They had cost Riza a pretty penny, but the way Mustang reverently lifted them from the box made it worth it. Lillian and Hazel crowded over his shoulders to ooh and ahh over the gloves.

“I know you prefer white, but I thought the black was rather sharp,” Riza explained, drawing his eye back to her. She propped her cheek upon her fist and smiled at him. “They should be warm, in any case. For winter wear.”

“Thank you,” he said again. “Sincerely. These are quite handsome.”

At the prodding behest of his sisters, Mustang tried on the gloves. They fit perfectly, of course; Riza was more familiar with the gloves he wore than anyone.

The leather hugged his knuckles as he curled his fingers, and he commented on how well-made they were. Riza’s response was lost when he slowly drew the gloves off again; she found herself inexplicably captivated by his hands, dexterous and elegant. There was something beautiful in the way he moved, down to his fingertips. He delicately replaced the gloves in their box, and Riza marveled how his hands could be tools of destruction when they were also capable of such delicacy.

Her heart leapt when Mustang met her eyes.

“I have something for you as well. Wait here,” he instructed, and stood up from the couch, taking his gloves with him. He left the room, presumably to get Riza’s gift, and Riza cast about for her wine glass for something to calm her unreasonable heart.

She sipped demurely at her wine while she waited. It was only a minute or so before Mustang returned with another box, slightly smaller than the one Riza had gifted him. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with silver ribbon.

“For you,” he said, holding the present out to her. “I hope you like it.”

Riza took the gift and carefully tore away the paper to reveal a blue velvet box the length and width of her palm, the kind that typically held jewelry. She glanced at Mustang suspiciously, and he smiled back, encouraging. With hesitant fingers, Riza lifted the lid.

Inside was a pair of stunningly beautiful earrings. Riza couldn’t tear her eyes from the polished silver, how it glinted in the light. She was astoundingly sure that those rubies were real.

“Colonel Mustang, I… I can’t accept this,” she said, quickly shutting the box again. “These must have cost you a fortune, sir, I can’t— I didn’t spend nearly this much on your gift. It doesn’t feel right.”

She leaned forwards in her seat and thrust the box back towards him. He didn’t take it.

“I didn’t get you these because I expected a gift of equal expense,” Mustang said.

Riza narrowed her eyes at him. “What about equivalent exchange?” It was a principle that so defined alchemists, she had trouble believing he would toss it to the side so easily.

Mustang chuckled. “What about it? It’s an immutable law of alchemy, yes, but alchemy is just one of many ways to understand the world.” He enclosed the box and her hand in both of his and looked deep into her eyes. “Please. I want you to have them.”

That soft intensity in his voice, his eyes, made Riza feel weak all over.

“...Fine,” she relented. “Though I have no idea what I’ll wear them with.”

Mustang smiled and released her hand. “I’m sure you’ll find something.”

"You're not going to put them on now?" asked Vanessa from her side, sounding very nearly offended. "Come on, come on, I want to see!"

Riza found herself urged up out of her seat by Vanessa, herded towards someone’s room to sit at the vanity. Helena tagged along as well. Riza went along with it, not seeing any harm, and gave her own face a cursory inspection in the mirror. There were spots of pink high in her cheeks, and she felt a little embarrassed that she had blushed in front of so many people she didn't know very well.

The back of a cool-skinned hand pressed against Riza's cheek, startling her.

"Must be the wine, poor thing," Helena said, smiling at her in the reflection.

"Must be," Riza murmured, and Helena withdrew her hand.

Riza removed her plain, everyday earrings with efficiency and set them aside. Vanessa slid the box with Mustang's gift across the table of the vanity towards her. She took a moment to look at them once more before carefully lifting one of the earrings and affixing it to her ear. She did the same with the other, then twisted her head side-to-side, the weight of them unfamiliar but not uncomfortable. She only owned one other pair of earrings that dangled like these did (also a gift, perhaps not surprisingly), but she couldn’t wear them with her uniform because of regulations, so she never did.

Helena gently removed the clip from Riza's hair, and the full length of it spilled down her back.

"You look much younger with your hair down," Vanessa commented, as Helena tucked some of it back behind Riza's ears. "Augh, you're so pretty, I can't stand it!" Vanessa threw her hands up dramatically and sashayed out of the room.

Helena chuckled and let her hands fall to Riza's shoulders. The attention made her feel flustered, and she shied away from meeting the other woman’s eyes in the mirror.

“What do you think?” asked Helena. “Do you like them? Roy has good taste.”

“Yes, they’re lovely,” Riza replied, admiring her reflection again. The rubies caught the light and reflected red against the skin of her jaw, distracting and bright. It brought out a warmth to the brown eyes she had always considered plain.

“Well, let’s show the others, then,” Helena said, squeezing Riza’s shoulders gently.

Riza stood and followed Helena back to where everyone was gathered, more gifts and conversation exchanged in their absence. Riza’s previous spot had been taken up by Vanessa, who much resembled a smug cat, and the only other seat left was beside Mustang. He looked up as she walked over, and Riza watched him start to grin, smother it, and then unsmother it so he was openly beaming.

“Beautiful,” Mustang said as she sat carefully beside him. He wasn’t looking at her ears when he said it. His eyes were molten and his cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

“I think you may have had too much to drink, sir,” Riza quipped as she settled back against the cushions.

His grin subsided into a closed-mouth smile, and he set his glass down on the coffee table, only taking his eyes off her for a brief second. “Perhaps you’re right,” he replied.

Riza carefully skated her gaze away from him, and took note of the hidden smiles and aborted looks in their direction from the other women in the room. Some of them complimented her on the earrings, while others admired their own gifts, and others still investigated the bottoms of their glasses.

The atmosphere continued in the same merry fashion, and Riza allowed it to absorb her even as she sat quietly, more of an observer than a participant.

Then, Chris got up from her chair and went to the record player in the corner. Brassy, high-tempo music began to play, and several women cheered at the selection. After the first song finished, Mustang smiled and excused himself from Riza, and went to join Chris, who stood like she was expecting him. Riza watched in wonderment as Mustang began dancing with his mother to the next song; it was a simple waltz, but they moved with practiced, fluid ease in the small space afforded by the living room. It was clearly a tradition.

About halfway through the song, Chris pulled away, laughing and fanning herself. She reeled Mustang in for a kiss on the cheek before returning to her chair and picking up her glass. Giselle handed her drink off to Lucy and joined Mustang for the rest of the dance.

An took up the spot Mustang had vacated, and she turned to speak with Riza.

“I love to watch Roy dance,” she said, her faint accent pulling on the consonants. “I’m too clumsy for it, myself. Do you dance, Riza?”

“Oh, no,” Riza answered with a smile. “I haven’t danced since the academy.” Rebecca had insisted, and Riza had trouble saying no to her sometimes.

An tilted her head thoughtfully as she looked at Riza. “How did a nice girl like you end up in the military, anyway?” she asked. The curiosity in her voice did not extend to her eyes, and Riza got the sense An already knew the answer.

Riza looked down into her wine and swirled it gently. “I have someone I need to protect,” she said, the same way she always responded to that question. It was simple, and true. The truest things were often simple.

“Just one person?”

Riza glanced up in surprise. An was still looking at her kindly. After thinking about it for a moment, Riza slowly said, “No,” and realized it was true.

She had joined the military for Mustang, and he would always be at the top of her hierarchy of priorities, but there were other people who had come to depend on her, too. Rebecca. The rest of Mustang’s unit. The Elric brothers. A small spark of warmth was kindled in Riza’s chest, and she hid her smile with another sip of wine.

The song changed again, and suddenly Mustang came skidding to a halt in front of her with his sleeves rolled up and his cheeks flushed red, eyes bright and hand outstretched. His smile could have lit even the darkest cavern. Riza felt all of her breath leave her body and the room seemed to spin around her.

“Dance with me, Lieutenant,” he said.

“I don’t know how,” she protested once she remembered how to breathe. She couldn’t look away from his eyes.

He beckoned with his hand, insistent. "You don't have to. Just follow my lead. You can do that, can't you?"

She would follow him anywhere. “Of course,” she said.

Warmed by the wine and his smile, she passed her drink to An, hesitantly placed her hand in Mustang’s, and allowed him to tug her onto her feet. It was strange how right it felt to have his hands on her — one positioned on her middle back (his fingers just grazed the edge of her scar), the other holding her hand aloft. Her left hand settled on his shoulder, and she could feel the shape of him through his shirt.

She hadn’t attempted anything resembling a waltz since that time with Rebecca, so she was clumsy at it, but Mustang moved with such confidence, no hesitation, that falling into step with him felt completely natural. By the time the song ended they had spun around the room a few times, always her hand in his and a respectful space between their bodies.

As the song came to an end, Riza smiled and tried to step back, but Mustang pulled her slightly closer instead. His hand on her back seemed to push the air from her lungs. “One more,” he pleaded, and Riza was helpless to refuse.

This song was slower and sweeter than the others had been; Mustang hummed along as they slowly revolved around the living room, maneuvering around errant legs and wine glasses. Riza realised, a bit self-consciously, that they were the only ones dancing, and the level of chatter in the room had quieted to a low murmur. It seemed some of the women had gone to bed, or moved down to the bar.

With Riza’s hesitancy, their dancing slowed. She lowered her forehead to Mustang’s shoulder and felt her earrings tickle her neck when she moved. He adjusted his hand on her back, holding her a little tighter.

"Are they watching?" she whispered, just for him.

His cheek brushed the crown of her head. "Ignore them," he whispered back. "They aren't here. It's just us."

It was always just them, but still they were never truly alone. They were forever surrounded by a sea of other people who could never understand this bond they had. Their connection had been kindled by kids, forged by fire, and weathered by war. Together they had created a monster called the Flame Alchemist, and it was together that they would put it down when the time came. They had no time, no _right_ to be alone together. Yet in the end it was always just them.

Riza bit her lip where no one would see, hidden behind the curtain of her hair. She curled her fingers in the fabric of his shirt and closed her eyes, relishing this rare moment of physical closeness. It was something they normally never allowed themselves to indulge in.

They swayed together to the slow tempo of the music, not really even moving their feet anymore. Riza almost didn’t even want to breathe too deeply, lest the spell over them be broken. This close she could smell him; clean fabric, clean soap, human underneath. She felt like she could drown in this smell, in this warmth. He was still resting his head against hers, and her skin tingled just at the _thought_ of how close his lips were to her skull.

Eventually the song ended, and they were left standing still as the record skipped, searching for a groove it wouldn’t find without a hand to guide it. They were holding each other too close to be professional. But that’s what it must have been, because it couldn’t be personal.

Riza slowly pulled back with a pang in her heart, and when she lifted her head she realized it really _was_ just them in the room. The rest of the family had mysteriously vanished, and Riza must’ve been more intoxicated than she thought to not have noticed them leave. The room seemed much bigger with just the two of them at its center.

She was still clear-headed enough to recognize the way he was looking at her, eyes lidded and slowly roaming her face.

Riza Hawkeye was not someone who often did things for herself. She was too responsible, or that's what she told herself. She took her cues from Mustang, made her decisions based on what was best for _him._ It was easier that way.

(His eyes landed low, on her mouth.)

It was for selfish, irresponsible, _personal_ reasons that she decided to press her mouth to his, rising up on her toes in her eagerness to close the last bit of distance between them. It was a burning need in her own chest, something _she_ wanted, and the shiver of pleasure down her spine when he kissed back made it worth it.

They had kissed only once before, before the funeral, before the war. It had been shallow and brief — a child's impression of a kiss, a farewell and a thank you. But the way she kissed him now was like they had been lovers all along, easy and familiar and just like coming home. She poured every lonely night of longing into that kiss, every wish she knew she'd never see filled, every hope for his success, that he felt the same, that he knew how much she _needed_ him.

It was Roy who pulled back first, gasping and clutching at her back, eyes lit up with awe. His mouth curved into a smile and he cupped her cheek in one hand, tilting her face so their gazes met.

"What was that?" he asked, breathless.

"I'm sorry," she said automatically. He shushed her gently in response, bringing their faces together again so their lips just barely brushed.

"You don't have to apologize," he whispered into her mouth. “Do it again.”

It was an order Riza was happy to follow. “Yes sir,” she breathed.

She put more of her weight into the second kiss and he held her up easily. His mouth tasted rich and dry like the wine they’d been drinking, and he matched her intensity beat-for-beat. She wound her fingers into his hair, dark as night and soft like silk. He brushed his hand across her neck; his fingers were warm but still left goosebumps in their wake.

A short, cut-off exclamation broke them apart, and Riza whirled towards the sound. The first door in the hall was quickly thrust shut from inside, and a clamour of murmuring and quiet giggling broke out from behind it, revealing where everyone had gone. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Riza was reminded of the military academy — a dormitory of girls with very little privacy led to a lot of unavoidable staring and giggling and gossiping.

Roy tried to take her hand, but she pulled away, her breathing quick and shallow. _What have I done?_ she thought. She had just jeopardized everything, is what she’d done; their plans, their careers — if that all crumbled because of a single, impulsive decision Riza didn’t know what she would do with herself.

“Riza, look at me,” Roy said. She obeyed, and he touched her face again, gently moving her bangs back away from her eyes. “It’s okay. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she said with quiet intensity. She trusted him more than she had ever trusted anyone. She would give anything, do anything, _be_ anything for him. It was why she joined the military. It was why she agreed to be his executioner if he ever strayed.

The way Roy looked at her was filled with something Riza had no words for other than _respect,_ and from that look alone she knew that he would never mishandle her trust, never lead her astray, never tempt or trick or betray her. “Then trust me when I say it’s okay,” he murmured, taking a small step to close the distance between them again. “We’re safe here.”

Riza hooked her index fingers into the front pockets of Roy’s slacks, eyes fixed on a crease in his shirt. He cupped her face again, with both hands this time, and she felt the earrings he’d given her shift from his touch.

“Why did you invite me here?” she asked quietly.

“Because I wanted to spend the holiday with my family,” he responded, easy and sincere. She glanced up to search his eyes and found nothing that she didn’t know already, but nothing he had ever said out loud, either. “That includes you.”

In that moment, Riza felt _utterly_ loved. The fact that he had brought her here to his real home, let her see the side of his life that he kept closest to his chest, simply because he wanted to share it with her, make her a part of it the way it was a part of him… There was no way for her to respond to that other than to kiss him again.

She would forever treasure the quiet, achingly vulnerable noise he made when she pulled away again.

“You’re everything to me,” Riza whispered, her hands finding their way to the back of his neck.

“You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” Roy whispered back. He gently brought their foreheads together, and Riza closed her eyes. She felt warm all over, especially the places where their bodies touched. “I wouldn’t be anywhere without you.”

Riza bit back a smile. “That’s true.”

There was so much more that they couldn’t say, but that was alright, because they didn’t need to. Riza looked into his eyes, into the depths of him, and knew that he understood. It was coded into the way they spoke, in each glance and touch and breath.

“I’m glad you agreed to come,” Roy murmured, trailing his fingers through the ends of her hair.

Riza had similar sentiments. She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, then back up again to his neck. It felt illicit and thrilling to touch him without consequence. Heart in her throat, she asked, “Will you show me your room?”

Roy’s eyes widened, but he said nothing -- only nodded.

* * *

At the end of their holiday leave, Riza walked into the office the way she always did. Back straight, chin high, the picture of professionalism and military pride. Mustang, Fuery, and Breda were already there, and Riza went straight to her desk to see what work awaited her. She glanced at Mustang, but he didn’t seem to notice her enter, bent over a stack of paperwork with a pen in one hand while the other pushed his bangs back. He had a look of intense concentration on his face, and Riza had to hold back a smile.

“How was your solstice, Lieutenant Hawkeye?” asked Fuery as she sat down.

Mustang looked up at the sound of her name, but quickly bent his head again. Still, Riza knew he was listening. “It was wonderful, thank you for asking, Sergeant,” she replied. “Some new traditions I wouldn’t mind repeating. What about you? Did you visit family?”

Fuery nodded and happily recounted a story about his father and older brother. Riza was content to listen as the rest of the team trickled in. She refrained from looking at Mustang, but the warm memory of their recent time together made her very aware of the amount of space between his desk and hers. He seemed so far away.

Riza remembered the way Mustang had laughed with his mother’s employees, a family in their own right. She recalled the snowball fight, his goofy smile, the solemn apology in his eyes when he’d frightened her by mistake. Remembering the way he’d looked at her when she entered the room wearing the earrings he’d given her made Riza’s heart flutter. She thought of his hand in hers, on her back, sliding down to her waist and holding her close while they danced.

Breda said something that snapped Riza out of her daze of fond recollection, and she blocked out the rest of it to focus on her work. She had never really had to do that before; her thoughts had always been primarily on her work — she didn’t _have_ distractions. Normally she didn’t mind talking about her life at work, because work _was_ her life; anything she withheld was a secret by necessity, and would not be shared even with a friend outside of work. What had happened with Mustang over the solstice, while certainly a secret, Riza realized she wouldn’t have wanted to share it even if it hadn’t been. It wasn’t _for_ sharing. It was just for them.

So it seemed she had a personal life after all.


End file.
